


Poor Hero

by el_bioma_mesa



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Nightmares, Traveling, he is scared and alone :/, horse pog, mentions of injury and blood, mentions of schlatt wilbur and dream but just barely, short fic, slight angst, uhh how do tags work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:48:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28539834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/el_bioma_mesa/pseuds/el_bioma_mesa
Summary: Tommy is traveling alone. Then, he has a nightmare. That's it.(Please read beginning notes!)
Kudos: 9





	Poor Hero

**Author's Note:**

> Important context for this:
> 
> The first half was written during the events of Pogtopia/Schaltt's administration, and the second half was written with sprinkles of knowledge after later events like the Exile! So take this oneshot with a grain of salt because it definitely doesn't follow the canon storyline. This is just a small idea, nothing deep :)

The soil was damp with the dew and last night's spitting rain. He was lucky it was still a few weeks before the true, chilly weather would hit. For now, the early fall was filled with easy, yet still bitter rainfall, and cloud full days that blanketed most noons with gentle warmth. It made traveling easier, especially as he knew the further he could get in the best weather, the better.

Tommy's horse clopped slowly through the uneven dirt of the spruce forest. Fallen, rotten logs covered in cream mushrooms and the occasional chunks of stone was making the path difficult for the tired horse. But he didn't mind the pace really, letting the horse figure itself out. It allowed for Tommy to concentrate on other things as jagged and painful as the path.

It felt like he was simply a lump of a rag atop the horse, swaying with it careless of a likely fall, barely holding onto the reins. It didn't help that his vision kept fading to black with slow blinks because of the incredible weight his eyelids currently held. Every limb of his body was exhausted, and a nap seemed so tempting at the moment, but he'd told himself he needed to get through this forest first, and soon. 

But it had taken days. Tommy wanted to be far from the openness of the plains he found himself in for miles days ago, and then he just wanted to be as far away from the border of the forest itself as possible. He was deep, now, of course, but he still felt uneasy. It bothered him if he stopped moving for too long, looking over his shoulder often whenever he'd stopped to glance at his compass or feed his horse. He hated it. He hated feeling watched, like someone was right about to jump from the shadows at any moment and attack him. He had barely any suitable armor, or strong enough weapons, even food. He was in no state to fight or defend himself. But if he kept moving away, away from all the dangers, maybe he would be safe for a little longer.

Tommy blinked at the sun rays that made their way through the leaves above. It was dawn, and the bright orange sun was finally climbing it's way up the hills ahead. He'd traveled all day yesterday, barely got rest because of mobs the last night, and had started moving again hours ago when the uneasiness wouldn't let him sleep. But now, the lack of rest was catching up to him, heavy on his shoulders, his head. The bright, rising sun was mocking him in the way it made the birds begin their morning chirps, the flowers open to its light, the dew fade with the warmth. Tommy blinked again and again, even felt his head bob dangerously forward with the heavy need to rest -- but he shook himself awake and continued on.

Perhaps it was the exhaustion, the gentle breeze, the smell of rain in the air, that made Tommy feel so extremely upset. Yes, it was the way the world right now was so beautiful in its wake, the way the soft grasses felt so inviting, the way the tall looming trees looked down at his frail state and decided to protect him. It was upsetting him, greatly. A burn slowly turned in his chest, up his throat. His vision blurred, and he blinked furiously

It was cruel. It was a mockery. Even as his world burns, everything else turns a blind eye and keeps going on. It sheds another morning, another night, the moons only keep falling, ferns only continue growing -- all as if everything Tommy has ever known hadn't burned away in an instant just days ago, as though everyone he has ever known, ever trusted, hadn't just left him only days ago.

Tommy blinked again and again, tilted his head back and took a deep breath. The spruces shook their leaves, the horse huffed over another jut-out root. It was a deafening silence, this forest, this mocking, laughing forest.

The horse had stopped. Tommy hadn't even realized, too busy wiping his eyes, too tired to keep focus.

"What is it, man," he said, sounding slightly annoyed, but so very tired. He sniffed and looked down at the horse's face. 

He sighed, patting its neck as he looked up again and scanned the area. There were thick trees in every direction, a grey-blue color to their barks that slowly came alive as the sunlight shined against them. All was still, but in a calming way. For the past few days, Tommy had associated the stillness with moments of anticipation, waiting for disaster to strike, for something to attack him. But this forest was gentle, understanding of his fears, it seemed. It was a peace he was unaccustomed to, so with a spike of weariness, he slid off the horse and tied it's lead on a branch.

Tommy shed his sword and pulled his shield from his back to his side. He walked around the nearby area, crouched low, eyes scanning. He saw no one, heard nothing but the shuffle of leaves. It was safe. For now.

He put his tools down and clipped the satchel off the horse. He sat ungracefully against the tree where the horse was tied to, pulling out an apple. In his last moments of wake, he chewed, and watched, and blinked, and chewed. 

It tasted like home. Like when they would chop oak trees beyond the path, and came back home with handfuls of the lucky fallen apples.

He froze. He looked down at the thin, yellow core of the fruit in his palm. It became blurry, distorted in his vision. He tossed it aside.

Tommy shuffled and moved the worn bag so that his head could rest on top of it. He pulled his chipped iron sword before him, gripping the handle until his knuckles became white, and finally, allowed his body to fall to the hands of sleep.

~

He was gripping the axe so tightly his knuckles paled. He swung, and the harsh strike against the bark sent his hand aching with the ricochet of force that traveled over his calloused palms and tired arms. The sound it made boomed down the grassy hill, sharp to his ears.

But he grinned. He grinned because alas, the last of the oak tree was cut down. All that was left was the flat stump, with marks where his axe had landed down to chop the pieces into smaller sizes. The logs became thinner, manageable pieces of wood sat in a growing pile to be gathered. Tommy hoisted his axe on his back and scooped up as many bits as he could in his arms.

It had taken him and Tubbo all day to chop down a few trees, but as much as it exhausted them by the end of the day, it was one of the only chores they enjoyed doing. For hours, they'd happily chatted away as they swung their axes, swept the leaves, and collected the sticks. Considering they were on opposite sides of a war and both standing in forbidden territory, it was also one of the only times they could spend together. 

"Hey, Tubbo!" he called as he walked towards where his friend was. "I'm done!"

Ahead, loading his own logs onto the horse wagon, Tubbo looked up, and nodded. "Alright, good. We can start heading back. It's getting late."

It wasn't, really, and they both knew it, but neither would say the real reason aloud. The sun was just shy of touching the peaks of the hills far west. It wasn't even late afternoon yet. 

"Ok, yeah," Tommy agreed, dropping the wood he was carrying over the neat stacks Tubbo had made on the box wagon. "I don't think the rest of my wood will fit. I cut down so many trees, y'know,"

Tubbo only hummed. He wasn't focused on whatever joke Tommy was trying to make, too busy getting the reins of the horse unknotted from the tree branch, but most likely, busy thinking about the quickest way back to Manburg without being seen. Tommy made his sigh unheard as he headed back to gather the rest of his logs.

Tubbo was on the horse now when he came back, struggling with the satchel of sticks that rested on the animal's side. Tommy dropped the last pieces in the back, then went over to take the satchel and swing it over his shoulder.

"The horse's gonna get all tired, Tubbo. Let's go,"

Tommy walked ahead, head lowered to watch his step as he made his way down the hill. The sharp twigs poked his back, but he didn't care. It was nothing compared to the dull ache in his chest. God, it'd been dulled down so much, like sand paper to the edges of a sword, but it still hurt when it jabbed into him. He couldn't help it. It wasn't fair how much things had changed so quickly and for the worst. Tommy couldn't even see his best friend as much anymore, and when he did, poor Tubbo was glancing behind his shoulder every minute. It freaked Tommy out, knowing that under Schlatt's rule, Tubbo was practically walking on eggshells at every moment. One wrong move and he would be in horrible, horrible trouble.

How selfish of Tommy to drag him around like this, knowing what they risked if they were caught, just because he missed spending time with him. 

"Tommy, careful with the --"

Tubbo didn't even finish whatever he was about to say because Tommy had already slammed his forehead on a low-hanging branch, nearly knocking himself down completely. 

Tommy rubbed his head. "What the fuck!"

Behind him, Tubbo cackled. Tommy shot him a look, but he only laughed harder.

"It's not even that funny," Tommy mumbled, turning around again, pushing the stupid branch out of the way and continuing forward. 

"How were you not paying attention?" he could hear Tubbo a little far behind him, giggling.

Yeah, how had he not seen it? It wasn't like him to be clumsy like that; his reflexes were too good.

Suddenly, something hit him on his shoulder and he jumped. 

"Hey--!" Tommy frowned and looked around, startled. He spotted the shiny red apple at his feet before he noticed Tubbo only laughing harder.

"Relax, Tommy, it's an apple. Eat it and heal,"

"I don't need to heal! I'm fine," he called to his friend, who's slow horse had barely made it any closer. Tommy sighed and picked it up. This time he waited for him to catch up while he wiped the fruit from dirt and took a reluctant bite.

"You aren't a very good liar, Tommy," Tubbo said, softer, smiling absently at nothing but the horse's mane, the trees around, like he was suddenly deep in thought. His horse clopped passed Tommy, who'd stopped mid-bite, frowning.

"What do you mean?" Tommy asked.

"You've got that face, man," he replied. "You're far from fine. We both know it,"

Tommy glared at the ground as he followed the horse and Tubbo. His momentary annoyance trickled away suddenly as it dawned on him what Tubbo was saying. He found the jab at his chest again. Dull, bitter, like a rusty sword twisting at his ribs. Had Tubbo really seen through him completely? Was he that obvious?

"It's ok to feel upset, Tommy," Tubbo was saying. "I'll be honest, I feel the same way. Everything's been… tough. I get it, I really do,"

Of course. Tubbo wasn't stupid. He, too, was in the middle of the chaos going on, the looming threats of danger and destruction in the broken nation beneath the tyrant, with barely anyone to trust -- Tommy wasn't the only one. Of course he wasn't. 

"It's just… scary, Tubbo," Tommy admitted quietly, staring at the fruit in his hand. "Everything has gone south for us, for our nation, our people. I don't know what to do sometimes,"

"It's ok to be scared," Tubbo said. His back was to Tommy. The horse had stopped moving. The sun was blocked by his silhouette from where Tommy stood. "It's ok to feel fear,"

The wind whistled, yet the bristle of the branches held their breath. Suddenly, everything felt frozen in place, cold and hesitant. Tommy blinked up. Tubbo's silhouette was darker than a regular shadow should be. When did the sky get all clouded?

"Fear, Tommy, isn't something to be wield, however," Tubbo's voice grew low, almost like he was speaking through his teeth. "And you're a fool if you think it can't take over. Oh, you're a great, lying, pathetic fool if you believe that it'll get anyone anywhere,"

The wind was picking up. The lovely setting sun was covered by grey clouds above. The trees were leafless suddenly, rotten brown on the forest floor. Tommy whipped his head around when he heard a sharp call of a crow. When he looked forward again, mouth open to say something in retort and confusion, the horse and Tubbo were no longer there.

"W-what..? Tubbo?" Tommy asked. He spun around, searching for his friend somewhere amongst the suddenly darkened trees. What had happened? Why was it so dark in the forest?

"You want to believe so badly that everything will be okay, Tommy. I know you do," A voice said from somewhere behind Tommy. It was an eerie mix of Tubbo's, Schlatt's, and Wilbur's voices. It boomed between the barks and twigs. 

"Tubbo?!" Tommy's calls were useless when all that he heard was the sharp, howling wind, and that voice all around him.

"But you're so fucking scared because you know damn well it won't," the haunting voices laughed, a cruel bitter laugh that rung through the forest. "You know more than anyone that hope is lost! Nothing will ever be back to normal, Tommy. Your nation won't return, your friends will never come back, and no one -- no one! -- will ever fucking forgive you for that."

Tommy didn't know when he had begun to run, but that's what he was doing. His screams were silenced by the storm of sharp wind and the bites of the flying leaves and branches that twisted all around him. Nothing seemed to escape his chest. His heartbeat rang with his steps as he pushed through branch after branch, but no matter how far he thought he'd gotten, the voices boomed behind him menacingly.

"And you know why, Tommy? You know why they'll never forgive you? Because you were meant to be their hero. But you weren't strong enough. You weren't able to. You let them all down. What a way to go, huh? Burned to nothing with the same nation you vowed to protect and fight for. Now look where such foolish, stupid promises have gotten you, Tommy. You are alone. And you know it."

Tommy tripped suddenly on a root. His hands and elbows scratched the rough ground and he cried in pain. The fall shouldn't have felt as painful as it did, however, Tommy noticed. That was until he saw the arrow that had pierced through his chest, jutting out before him, covered in thick, dark red blood. He coughed and scrambled in a panic, but he only hissed in the pain from the movement. The cold wind scraped his skin. It pointed to the figure that had suddenly appeared in front of him. Shakily, Tommy looked up. 

Tubbo, in a navy blue uniform with golden shoulder plates and buttons, with his stance sharp and poise, looked down at his hunched self with a glowing red fire of madness in his eyes. Tommy couldn't breathe suddenly, whether it was because of the blood spilling from the corners of his mouth, or the shock of the face of his best friend. 

"What a funny way to go," the ominous shadow of a Tubbo said. When he grinned, his teeth were sharp and bright. His eyes shifted from gold to a demonic red as he crouched low to Tommy's level. Tommy wanted to sputter out a word, but nothing was forming. He shook from the pain, trembling on the ground, barely keeping himself up with his arms.

The Tubbo that wasn't Tubbo, this being of darkness that twitched in and out of ram horns, a beanie, and a smiling white mask over the face of his best friend -- leaned close and whispered.

"Oh, what a way to go, Tommy."

The world went completely dark. Then, he was falling, and falling, and falling. Tommy tasted salt on his lips, saw a deep blue surround his blurry vision, saw a line of dark red trailing before him as he fell down, down, down. The ground hit him hard against his back, and a breath of air was forced out of his lungs so fiercely that the world, this abyss, shattered.

~

Tommy awoke with a scream, heart beat thundering his insides. He hadn't even felt the burst of his own lungs rip through the forest until its echo made it back to his ringing ears. Tommy sprang up from where he'd been lying, clutching his arrowless, bloodless chest, and heaved for several minutes. His wide, mad cyan eyes scanned the area frantically, but when they caught up to only the sight of green leaves, a calm blue sky, and the brown horse beside him, alas, he came back to his senses, and he felt like he could breathe again.

Whatever the hell had come over Tommy's nightmare was beyond him. For a long, feverish moment, all he saw were the images of his best friend staring down at him, and he still felt the ghost of pain that had pierced right through him. His ears still rung with the words that were spat. It was all so vivid and clear, yet already fading away as his eyes blinked and squinted at the noon sun. 

He felt wide awake now. Everything around him seemed to be screaming at him. Suddenly, nothing felt safe here; here on the corner of a watchful forest, of trees that had leaned over to hide him away as he napped, of a clueless sun that only shared its warmth to the lonely, shivering boy -- none of them understood what was truly going on. The world went round, the world bloomed in the dawns and the world fell to sleep, carelessly with a naïtivity Tommy could never understand himself; no, none of the world around him cared or knew or bothered to see that sometimes the world was cruel, too. He was alone, helpless, and filled with a burning fear, and not a single thing around him understood. 

Tommy rose to his feet, attached the satchel to the horse he stole from where he once called a home, and rode away. 

Everything felt so incredibly wrong. The way the sun climbed and smiled down at him, the way the passing birds wished him luck on his journey -- they didn't get it. And honestly, most times, neither did Tommy. But unsettlingly so, one of the voices in the nightmare he'd just suffered through, was in fact the only one that was right about one thing.

That this would be one hell of a way to go.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, thanks for reading!! Critiques and stuff are very appreciated, as this is the first time I'm posting my work so I wanna improve, and also hear your thoughts on this! Here, you may have this 🪱


End file.
